I call them my babies, they'll always be my babies, but they're growing up.
Presley is nearly three. He is a tall slim boy and has never really had a baby face, he has always had the face of a boy.
Cash is nearly two. He has always been a little fuller in the face, but acts so much older than his 21 months. I expect that is because he is the younger sibling and copies his brother. You wouldn't really call him a toddler any more.
I have two boys.
Each day they become more independent. They can clean their teeth on their own. They use knives and forks and cups without lids. They can undress and dress themselves - after a fashion!
Presley and Cash play together a lot more. They have invented games called 'going to Aunty Helen's house' and 'hopdyhoptic'. No, I haven't a clue what that means either, but it appears to involve opening and closing the kitchen door over and over again.
They run around the garden and clear up leaves and sticks, placing them the garden bin. They 'help' around the house and repeatedly try to put their toy cereal boxes in the recycling box.
They are wonderful little lads.
They still need their Mummy though. Mummy rubs it better and Mummy kisses it better each time they hurt themselves. They can be howling inconsolably over a bumped arm, but as soon as Mummy has rubbed or kissed it they stop the tears and declare 'that's better now'.
This was Presley's first scabby knee of the Summer. Short trousers are no protection against running too fast over stoney tarmac.
Cash still has a bottle of cow's milk three times a day. I expect the health visitor will comment on this when he has his two year development check. I'll miss this closeness when he moves over to a cup to drink his milk (or a cereal bowl once the Coco Pops have been eaten, like his brother).
Right now I still get to cradle him like a baby and have him relax in my arms.
Right now I still get to cuddle them both on my lap, whenever I want, and cover them with kisses.
I know this won't last forever and I am clinging on to it as I cling on to them, stroking their soft skin and hair.
One day they won't want a kiss from their Mummy.
One day they won't let their Mummy cuddle them.
One day they won't need me to rub it better or kiss it better.
One day I won't be needed and this makes me feel sad right now, although I expect that by the time I have two amazing teenage sons I'll be heart-burstingly proud of them - all from a respectful distance of course.